CURRENCY OF FEAR
Fear pays the way for my disease to enter. Once inside fear seats itself front and center. Fear is the currency that allows entry to the far reaches. The coinage is ancient and steeped in tradition. There is no time or place that hasn’t been moneyed with fear and its derivatives. I can’t hide from it so my job must be to educate fear. Fear is real and has a place as protector and warning. But fear expands with ignorance and devalues the purpose of caution. Fear cannot buy safety, though I can use it to pay the toll across the bridge to balance.
Speckle your tongue with new words.
At the root of it all is darkness.
The place from which I grow,
the structure that holds me fiercely upright,
is pressed on all sides by dirt.
When I get right down to it the ethereal leaves
and twigs, even the branches, do not exist,
except for my foundation in the composted death
and recycled life; the ground.
For is it God who rains down from the heavens
light and water or is God truly living
at the center of the earth,
warming my toes and securing me to what is real.
You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault